The End
by La Sorelli
Summary: My own version of the terrifying, emotional, and eventually tragic ending of the story. Leroux/Kay/a tiny bit of Webber. M for future sexual content and violence. A short-ish story.
1. Part One

She lies on the sofa, completely defenseless, slowly becoming coherent. I stare at her flawlessly beautiful, yet so cruelly deceiving, face. And I wait. Above us, my kingdom burns by my own hand. I have razed it to the ground; with a great and terrible crashing of several tons of crystal and candles. The high society of Paris burns; the orchestra, the chorus, the managers…they could all be burned alive by my doing. But it doesn't matter. I consider it all just a part of my revenge, my demented vengeance on unkind, unfeeling humanity. I have a bloodlust now unlike ever before. The urge to kill and kill again is stronger than ever…

I hear her make a soft moan, pulling me from my thoughts. The chloroform is wearing off. It is time for action. I rise from my chair slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on her, until I must turn into the hallway which leads into her bedroom. Inside the room, I open the old Louis Philippe armoire and sift through all her gowns- gowns I so meticulously purchased for her with my own money- until I find what I want. I pull out the hidden wedding dress; yards and yards of white silk and eyelet lace cascade delicately into my arms. It is the most perfect garment ever conceived…and it will be beautiful on her; my breathing, living bride, rather than on the cold, lifeless automaton I had created out of sheer desperation.

Next, I take out my skeleton key and open a drawer in the old, mahogany bureau next to the bed. I remove a long thin box from the drawer. Inside is the veil, made of spider web like gossamer and real freshwater pearls on the crown, safely nested in sheets of white tissue. Holding the gown and the veil over my arm with care, I go to retrieve one last thing. Atop the bureau sits a green jewelry box, with ornate Russian painting all over its exterior. Only one thing sits in that jewelry box; a smaller box, made of black velvet. A recurring feeling of heartbreak chokes me as I take the box and open it. There lies the ring, the one she tried to hide…_his _ring. The huge, shimmering diamond with its bluish glow seems to mock me. It reminds me that she lost my ring; my plain, gold band. Without a care at all, she dropped it into the streets and replaced it with this gaudy, aristocratic thing.

The ring fills me with fury, but I know for the time being I must be calm. I snap the box closed and slip into my cloak pocket. The time for violence will come, I remind myself. I return to the drawing room, my aging legs are starting to ache. She is awake now. She looks around, sees me coming towards her, and instantly panics at the realization of her whereabouts.

"Oh my God…" she whispers in terror, "What…what happened?"

"I'm afraid my dear, that I had to sedate you." I told her complacently.

"Sedate me?" she asks in confusion.

"I could not very well carry you down here kicking and struggling, could I?" I ask smoothly. "Now, my dear, I must ask you to get up and put these on." I hold out the gown and veil. She stares at the white bundle in dull, abrasive horror.

"Why?" she asks, her voice rising with nervousness.

"For the ceremony, of course; I did tell you there would be one." I remind her snidely. She rises very quickly, as if to make an action of protest, and then falls back again with a groan of pain.

"Oh didn't I tell you? Get up slowly; chloroform leaves one with a splitting headache." I say coldly, glaring at her with dismal, absolute anger. She places her hand over her forehead, breathing heavily. At a loss for any compassion or patience, I throw the wedding garments on to an armchair and go over to the sofa. I place my hand on the small of her back and carefully pull her to her feet, standing her up in front of me. She wobbles, holding on to my shoulder merely for support.

"Erik…" she murmurs, panting still from the drug's strong after-effects.

"Perhaps it'd be best if you just did not speak, Christine. You will need your strength." I push her hand from my shoulder, leaving her to stand alone unsteadily. I pick the dress up once more and hold it out to her.

"Now, as I said. I would like you to put this on."

She looks at the dress like it is a poisonous insect and shakes her head. "No."

"No? Why not?" I ask; my voice is icy and filled with venom.

"Because…I haven't a dresser to help me with the laces." She says quickly.

"Oh, Christine you're a terrible liar." I tell her with a sharp scoff. "Erik is very capable of helping you lace your gown. So," I thrust it forward, "Put it on."

"I won't." she backs away from me and the dress. "I won't!"

"Listen, you exasperating little thing. You will do as I say. I have a ceremony scheduled and I don't find it polite to miss appointments. _Put on the dress_." I snap, feeling my sanity slowly slipping.

"I will not!" she cries, trying desperately hard to be brave. I see her dear little lips quivering…she is afraid of me. I don't want her to be afraid…I want to go and hold her…

"_No, you fool. Don't let her trap you again. Remember how she hurt you…insidious little snake!" _the voice inside my head reminds me with severity. He is so powerful. I remember to obey him…

"Put it on _now_!" I shout, throwing it at her. She recoils and lets the gown fall to the floor. With an irate sigh, I lean down on my poor knees and pick the gown up. I hold it out to her again with fierceness.

"I will not _ask_ again. Take this gown and put it on like you have been told."

"You cannot order me around." She hisses at me angrily. "I do not have to do what you say anymore."

I feel my sanity snap…like a feeble piece of wood.

"I told you, I would not _ask you again!_" I scream at her, grabbing her wrist and shoving her up against the wall. "Perhaps a threat will frighten you into doing what I say? You do frighten so easily…don't you? Put on this gown, or I shall do it for you."

"I _will not_!" she shrieks at me, her eyes filling with tears of rage.

With an infuriated howl, I spin her around so that her face is pressed into the hard stone wall. She squirms and writhes like a worm trying to get off a hook, but I am ultimately much stronger and keep her pinned down.

"Let go of me, you wretch! You monster! _Let go!"_ she screams at the top of her lungs. She kicks her small feet backwards, hitting me in my brittle shins each time. I ignore the pain and draw my mouth close to her ear.

"I told you that if you did not cooperate and dress yourself that I would do it for you!" I snarl into her ear. I shove away her long curls to reveal the laced back of her pink and black Flamenco opera costume. I wedge my shaking fingers beneath the laces and begin to rip them open.

"_Stop it!_" she shrieks in a tone of such fear that my blood feels cold. "No…stop…stop…stop! Don't…please! Don't touch me…please!"

I refuse to listen to her pleas and continue to undo the dress. Beneath the open laces I can see her bare, ivory flesh beneath her chemise. I want to touch that skin so badly that I ache…it'd be so easy. I have her now, pinned against the wall with no defense. How easy it would be to rip off everything and take her, violently, by force, here on the floor…how dangerously easy it always had been…

"Erik! Please, _please stop!"_ she wails, now in complete tears. "I'll do it. I'll put on the dress! Just please don't do this to me!"

She knows my intention. Perhaps she's not so completely naïve after all. She's wise enough to know how simple it would be for me to forcefully strip away her innocence. It is my desire…but it hurts _terribly_ to be accused. I back away from her. She turns around to face me, holding her dress up with her hands. She shudders with fear, wiping at her tearstained face.

"I cannot…I cannot believe you would accuse Erik of doing something so terrible." I stammer and my voice tremors with pain. "I have never touched you in such a way. I would never do such a thing to you!" What I say is true, but it repulsively contradicts the licentious thoughts I have had. She just looks at me, seemingly unable to say anything more. Once more, I pick up the dress and offer it to her. This time, she takes it without hesitating. She turns to head to her room, but I stop her.

"You will put that on out here." I tell her firmly.

"What? Dress in front of you?" she asks in disbelief.

"Oh, don't act so prudent child. You aren't nearly so modest around the Vicomte." I spit the words out poisonously. She stiffens at my mention of him. She does not yet realize how much I really know. But she will.

"Put the gown on and I will help you with your laces." I command. At last, because she knows there is no other choice, she obeys me.


	2. Part Two

_I am doomed without any doubt. He has me locked down here, forcing me to put on a wedding gown in front of him. The dress is no longer a beautiful gown but a terrifying omen of death. I slide off my opera costume and look away from his hungry eyes. I feel him staring at me in my scanty undergarments as I step into the folds of silk. I feel like a mouse about to be devoured by a snake. As quickly as I can, I pull the dress up over my chest and slip my arms into the sleeves. I turn around and hold my arms out, signaling him to lace me up. His rigid, long fingers nimbly work at the laces. I stare at the unlit fireplace before me. I see a fire poker…I imagine myself running him through with it. _

"_What happened upstairs, Erik, was that your doing?" I ask, biting my lip with nerves._

_ "Are you referring to the chandelier?" he replies._

_ "Yes." _

_ "Of course, who else could achieve such an act?" he asks, giving a sinister snicker. He finishes my last lace with an unnecessary yank and I gasp from lack of air and from dismal shock._

_ "But…people will have been killed!" I cry, turning to him._

_ "Oh yes, I daresay. It is difficult to be a murderer my dear, without sometimes killing people." He answers calmly, glowering at me with his masked, golden eyes._

_ "No…" is all I can mutter. Raoul was in that audience, waiting for me to leave with him…_

_ "Death happens every day, my dear. He's really quite welcoming, Death." Erik shrugs unworriedly. "Now, I suggest that you sit down and try not to disturb that dress. Perhaps fix your hair…it's quite a mess. Erik must get ready for the guests."_

_ "Guests?" I inquire sharply._

_ "Oh, yes. You can't very well have a dignified wedding without guests, can you?" _

_ Wedding…_

_ "Erik, you don't seriously intend for us to be married." I burst out pleadingly._

_ "Why, of course I do. You promised me." he said, speaking in a frighteningly cheerful voice. "Remember?"_

_ The ring…I'd taken his ring. _

_ "I did not make that promise with a clear mind." I spat at him, feeling tears rise again. "You manipulated me."_

_ "Call it what you will." He snapped chidingly, "But nevertheless, you are promised to me. We will be married and consummated by tomorrow night, Christine."_

_ Consummated…The word fills me with a petrifying nausea. Thinking of him touching me with no clothes…feeling that dead flesh…it is a most horrifying and unbearable thought._

_ "Erik please…" I start to beg._

_ "No more, Christine. I think you should go to your room and rest for a while." He tells me, turning his back on me swiftly. Nearly paralyzed with fear, I somehow begin to shuffle to my room, leaning on the wall for help. _

_ "Oh, Christine?" he calls tantalizingly. I stop walking and hear him approach me. "There is one thing I forgot." His bony hand slides around my torso and opens in front of me. Its Raoul's ring…I feel my heart stop._

_ "I believe you forgot this down here last time." He says in a voice so dark and soft, so penetratingly accusatory, that I feel like razors are going up my spine. "I hope you haven't missed it." _

_ Mechanically, I open my hand and he drops the ring into my palm. I stare into space like a zombie. He knows. He knows everything. He's going to kill us. We're going to be dead._

_ "Now, go on to your room, my dear bride." He hisses chillingly into my ear, giving me a small push forward. I walk into my room without blinking. Behind me, the door locks. My eyes are dry and fixated on the blackness of my fate. I cannot even see the room around me. All I see is darkness. I feel my way shakily to my bed and sit down. And there I simply sit, filled with dull, painful horror; feeling like I have been capsized by icy water. I feel the rough diamond of the ring cutting into my closed palm._

_ All those people upstairs…burned alive, because of me. Raoul, the love of my life, could now be dead and I will never see him again. And if is not dead yet, Erik will surely see to it given the opportunity. I find myself suddenly praying internally, begging God to keep Raoul away. I know he'd like nothing more than to rush to my rescue like a fairytale prince, and it was a lovely thought. But in this story, the hero could not triumph, for the villain was far too terrible._

_ My future was very clear to me now, as I sit here. I would become Erik's bride, a prisoner of obsessive, deranged love, and spend eternity in darkness. I would die down her, trapped in inescapable walls of stone. No one would find my corpse. They'd never hear my screams. The longer I think and stare at the wall before me, the more apparent it becomes to me. I know what I must do. _

_ I rise from my bed, the ring clatters to the floor, and shove myself against the bureau, slowly pushing it until it covered the door. There is now an entirely bare, stone wall before me. I put my hands on the cold, green wallpaper. It was all stone beneath, quite definitely stone. Then, bracing myself with my hands, I draw my head back and brought it forward into the hard stone. The pain is incredible, I feel like my brains had been dislodged. I tell myself this is the only way of escape. So I shall go to hell…and be burned for eternity for suicide…it cannot be worse than this._

_ The headache from earlier is back as I bash my head repeatedly into the stone. Everything spins, even my teeth are hurting…I feel blood run down my forehead. This is for you Raoul, I say to myself. This horrible, dramatic action is to save you from a horrible fate. I slam myself brutally into the wall a few more times before I cannot stand anymore. My knees give out and I collapse to the floor…_


	3. Part Three

I am in my bedroom, dressing in my best suit, when I hear a muted crash from Christine's room. I fly through the door which leads straight into the corridor with her room and pound on her door.

"Christine!" I shout. No answer comes. I pull out my key to unlock the door, the lock clicks and I turn the knob, but something is in front of the door; blocking me out. She's trying to keep me out! Cursing irritably, I go around to the secret door I built behind a tapestry of the Sabine Women. When I come inside, I see her bureau shoved up against the door. I peer over the bed and see her lying on the floor next to it. I go over to her and roll her over to see her bleeding from the head, her eyes rolling, and her face completely white. Shaking with hurt rage, I look at the wall and see a small smudge of red. She was trying to kill herself…trying to lock me out while she took her own life! I could nearly cry at this thought; but instead, I remember to be angry.

"Cruel woman." I snarl. I pull up from the floor, she groans, slumping against me. I drag over the chair from her writing desk and sit her in it violently. Her bleeding head lolls around like a doll's. I noticed stains of blood on the collar and bodice of her wedding gown. I take a cloth from her washbasin and tend to her injury until it stops bleeding. I do this, not with sympathy or tender care, but with cold, indifference. I leave her groaning for a moment and go to my hidden hall closet. From the top shelf I take a coil of rope. As she sits there, barely conscious, in what I can assume is horrible pain, I begin to bind her to the chair.

I wrap my rope around and around her small torso, so that she has no use of her arms. Then I tie her feet and ankles to the chair legs so is completely immobile.

"This will teach to try and take your own life while in Erik's house…" I mutter furiously. She would rather die than be with me. I know that now.

"Well my dearest," I pull the final knot tight around her thin ankles, "You'll find me very obliging." I gaze up at her; she is now completely unconscious once again. Her battered head droops down on one shoulder, blood sticks into her lovely dark curls, which are tangled and askew. I look at her, but I feel no pity; only anger.

I will have revenge for what she's done. She will die down here, oh yes, quite definitely. But it will not be by her hand.

It'll be by mine.


	4. Part Four

_After hours and hours of dark terror and spinning voids, I open my eyes. My neck is dreadfully stiff, so I move my hand to rub at it, but my hand cannot move. I look down, and to my dismay, I am completely tied to the chair I sit on. Erik must have seen me collapsed on the floor because of my foolish suicide attempt. I had tried to keep him out; I should have known that no door could hold him back. In complete and total frustration, I let out an infuriated screech and start to struggle against the coarse rope. _

_ "Horrible man! Lying, scheming, evil bastard!" I yell out furiously, shaking around so that the chair repeatedly hits the floor. As I throw my tantrum, Erik silently slips into the room. I do not see him until he stands calmly before me; dressed in an impeccable black suit, that on anything normal man would be handsome. Without a brush of hesitancy, I shout at him._

_ "Release me!"_

_ "And let you kill yourself? I think not."_

_ "I'd rather kill myself than be trapped here, with you!" I shriek. The yelling and screaming hurts my bruised head with a terrible force. I close my eyes, wincing in pain._

_ "If you want to die, my dear, that is not a very good method. What have you managed to do but give yourself a worse headache and ruin your dress?"_

_ "Leave me alone." I say through clenched teeth._

_ "I'm an experienced killer, Christine. I know many better ways to go about committing suicide…" he croons in an eerily wistful nature._

_ "Don't talk about death like that, please!" I whimper to him. "It frightens me!"_

_ "Oh, yes, Erik seems to have forgotten how easily you are frightened." He emits condescendingly._

_ "Why? Why are you doing this?" I entreat him._

_ "Doing what?" he asks unknowingly, suddenly fixated with the folds of his cloak._

_ "Being so cruel!" my voice feels thick with emotion._

_ "Any cruelty, Christine, I learned from you." His words slice slowly at my heart, like a knife to a loaf of bread. His shrouded eyes seem to flame, burning into me, as he waits for me to say something._

_ "Erik…I'm sorry." I cry out frenetically. "I never meant to hurt you-"_

_ "Don't!" he rounds on me, coming to stand closely above me, his voice thundering heatedly. I jolt away from him, floored by his brutality. "Don't you dare say that to me! Don't you dare lie to me, you heartless, ungrateful guttersnipe! You have lied to me enough!"_

_ The obvious tremble in his voice is so pitiable. It must be so exhausting to be him; always constantly experiencing several emotions at once, switching between them like cards. I can see that familiar sorrow behind all the fury, that anguish in his eyes…_

_ "I'm sorry." I tell him again; very softly. He snarls at me, the piteousness fades away, replaced once again by insane mirth. _

_ "It is too late for your apologies." He seethes, backing away from me like a winged creature. "That time has passed." He then briskly goes over to my vanity, whips up the stool, brings it front of me and sits down in it swiftly. He moves forward so that we are no more than ten inches away from each other. That horrible masked face is straight in front of me—I fight off an urge to shudder._

_ "Now as you are just sitting here, pay attention," he instructs me, now icily calm; another change of mood that happens as swiftly as changing wind. "I am going to make you an offer."_

_ "My answer is no." I blurt out harshly._

_ "Oh, but you have not heard everything yet. Shut your infernal little mouth and listen." He chides. "As Erik said…he has a proposition for you. You will marry me, and we shall have the happiest life imaginable. I have created a mask, you see, which makes me look normal. Just like a normal, handsome man! We shall move out of this dismal cellar into a home in the country. Wouldn't you love that? And you, you my Christine, will be the happiest of women. I want a wife, don't you see? Just a wife like any other man would want…a wife that I can walk with on Sundays and sleep next to at night. And I love you, so it is only logical that I marry you."_

_ I shake my head, unable to comprehend the absolute insanity that I am hearing. "I will not marry you. I will never marry you."_

_ "Ah, you have not heard the end yet." He chuckles maliciously. "If you refuse, then you and I and all of Paris will be dead and buried. Including your young man…I will see to him first…I expect he will be here quite soon…"_

_ "No!" I gasp in shock. "No! You cannot kill Raoul! I beg of you!"_

_ "It's all right to kill when you are threatened. Erik is quite threatened by the Vicomte…" he murmurs to me, or perhaps to himself, or maybe to the inner self he always seems to speak to._

_ "You cannot kill hundreds of innocent people!" I have no begun to sob hysterically. _

_ "No one is innocent. Not you, not Erik!" he maniacally laughs at me._

_ "No!" I sob._

_ "Your precious tears won't help right now!" He yells, drawing his face even closer to mine. "If you accept me now…" his voice suddenly softens, "it will all be over. I am giving you this chance to make your decision freely."_

_ There is a long, penetrating silence. We stare into each other's eyes. I feel something hot, bubbling inside me…not anger or fear…but hatred. Hatred for this man, who abuses me, lies to me and manipulates me; yet accuses me of treachery. I have never felt hatred like this before. This new feeling instills courage inside me, driving me to use the only defense I have. I spit in his face._

_ "Never." I whisper irately. He moves away in a sort of shock, wipes at his mask, and stands up._

_ "Have it your way then." He snaps. "I could kill you now, you know? But I won't. No. I'm going to give you until tomorrow at eleven o'clock to make a final decision."_

_ "How will I know what time it is?"_

_ "I'll tell you. Erik can be helpful." He goes to the door._

_ "Untie me, please!" I scream at him._

_ "Never." He repeats my word to me, with the same cold severity. "Remember…" he says, going out the door, "Dead and buried!"_

_ Then he laughs insanely again; the room around me seems to freeze. _


	5. Part Five

A/N: This is Raoul's POV. The men's sections are written in normal font and Christine's is in italics.

"Where are we?" I grunt, after feeling my head slam into something hard.

"We fell." My companion replies. We are in a pitch black room that is very warm and smells like the water in a swimming pool. I grope around, but my hands find nothing.

"I think I know where we are." The Persian says grimly.

"There's only one way to find out." I rise with impetuous bravery.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, don't!" he whisper-shouts at me; but it is too late. The moment I stand up, the room is filled with a blinding light; which switches on with a loud, buzzing electrical noise. We both fall to the ground again, covering our eyes.

"It will burn out our eyes!" I moan.

"Hush! Your eyes will adjust!" he snaps at me. As I have learned over this night, he is always correct. After a few moments, we are able to see again—the sight is one I know I'll never forget. We are trapped in a room made entirely of mirrors. Even the floor and ceiling are mirrors. Dozens of images of us reflect across the room. I stare in awe as The Persian goes to one wall and puts his ear to it.

"Fiend!" he hisses, hitting the wall with his fist. Then he curses violently in Arabic. "I cannot believe he actually built this!"

"What is it?" I ask.

"A specialized torture chamber…the same kind he built for the Khanum in Persia. Oh, dear Allah…" he trails off, twisting the tassels of his Astrakhan cap in anxiety.

"A torture chamber?" I repeat; unable to believe such a fantastical thing.

"Yes…soon these mirrors will be scorching hot and we will be baked alive."

My eyes widen in horrified panic. "We must get out!" I exclaim and in frenzy, begin to search for a door.

"There is no door, monsieur." He sighs knowingly. "Unless…it is hidden; but then, only Erik will know of its whereabouts."

"Are we in his lair?"

"I daresay we are."

"Then we must get out and kill him!" I say, too loudly again. The Persian rushes over and puts his hand firmly on my mouth, holding on to my arm sternly.

"Monsieur, you must be _quiet_!" he hisses. "We must try our hardest not to speak at all. If he hears us, we have no chance at all!"

"But, Christine-" I start to mumble from under his hand, but he stops me again.

"I know you want to save her M. de Chagny. I do as well. I would be heartbroken to see such a beautiful and dear girl condemned to life with that monster. I swore to you I would do everything in my power to save her. But we must be cautious. We have already triggered the light. Soon it will be boiling hot. We must stay calm. Do not let your blood heat up." He whispers fervently. "Now please," very slowly, he removes his hand, "Stay quiet."

I nod hesitantly. "Then…what do _you_ propose we do, M. Daroga?"

"We could try to feel around…quietly, mind you. There could be a trap door perhaps…a spring…something." The Persian falls to floor and starts rampantly feeling around. I see masked panic, hidden in his dark reflected face. I do not know what to do or what to think; so I fall to my knees and feel around for myself.


	6. Part Six

A/N: I feel I must warn you; this chapter features Erik's tormented, inner battle with himself. So if it seems confusing and schizo-ish, then that is what I intended. Hopefully it's slightly creepy and disturbing…

A very clear ultimatum has been made. I don't want to have to kill her. I really do not even wish to kill that boy. Yet I know I will have to. I stack another barrel, the wood thumps against the wall. My back aches and my knees are throbbing; lifting the barrels is difficult for my aging, weakening body. A task once so docile now turned painful.

"Well perhaps I won't have to kill her," I suggest to myself hopefully. "Perhaps she will choose to marry me, decide I'm not so dreadful…"

_"No!" _he tells me furiously. _"She'll never choose you and you know it!"_

"Maybe she will…"

_"She won't! She has her prince. What does she want with you? With us?"_

"I can change for her." I murmur weakly.

_"You cannot. You are an unholy creature. A monster, an angel in hell; you do not belong with such a goddess."_

"Don't say that." I plead.

_"Stop ignoring the truth. She'll never want you. You must kill her. Kill them all. You only need me…"_

"No!" I scream, hurling a barrel across the room with a momentary blast of strength. It smashes into pieces; powder flying everywhere. "Erik wants to be good…to be loved…Erik needs her…she needs him, she did once…" I sink to my knees and start making shapes mindlessly in the powder. "Erik wants her so much!" I wail intolerably.

_"Have her then."_

"I could not. I could not sink to that…"

_"You already have. You have raped her innocent mind. Why not let me help you take her body? You can make her do it. Tie her up. Gag her."_

"Erik could not hurt her like that!"

_"But you have. You've hurt her incurably. She'll wear your scars forever. Why not let her live with that? Take her. Then kill her. And then kill us…both of us! We don't belong on this earth anymore, we never have."_

His voice is so cold, so terrible and heartless! I shiver with tears, curling my knees up like a child.

"I do not know what to do." I gripe. "I cannot do what you ask."

_"Then go through with your silly bargain. Let yourself be hurt again by that bitch. If she won't be your wife in life, then perhaps if you are lucky, she will be in death."_

"Yes!" I stand up abruptly. "She will be! She'll have to be!" I stack the final barrel quickly and then look back triumphantly at my work. Five hundred kegs of gunpowder; right beneath the building's center. I have attached one long fuse to them all; I hold it gently in my hand, almost tenderly. One match to this fuse and it is all over. _Dead and buried._

_"You could still have her, you know."_

"I'll have her in hell." I snap at him. "Now leave me alone, I don't want to hear you again."

_"But I am always with you."_

"I know." I admit sadly. Erik and The Ghost have always been separate. I knew a day would come when The Ghost tried to kill Erik in the war. He would crush him if I let him…destroy the remaining fragments of a man.

I leave my gunpowder room, which will be used depending on Christine's decision, and go to my bedroom. On my writing desk sit two miniature caskets. I open them both. In one lies a bronze grasshopper, in the other; a silver scorpion. They come from the Orient and their symbolism there is as prevalent to me here in Europe. I hold my scorpion, feeling its silver stinger against my skin. The poison of a scorpion comes from the stinger—it is deadly on contact. In the Oriental culture, the scorpion's stinger entering the flesh is a representation of a man first entering a woman. It is the loss of virginity, of innocence; in a sinful, illegitimate manner.

I have already poisoned Christine's mind; stolen her innocent thoughts away. What stops me from poisoning her body? Is it fear or perhaps some pathetic, Catholic belief resurfacing? Whatever it is, it holds me back from doing what I so desire. I want to crush that grasshopper and become her scorpion; fully poisoning her body until she begs me to stop. That is all I want, just like any other man with red blood and natural impulses. I want to have her, so why can't I?

What stops me?


	7. Part Seven

_I have given up after hours of struggling. Now I sit, exhausted, dejected and completely alone, tied to this terrible chair. There is no point in squirming; it only puts horrible red marks into my skin as the rope brushes against it. I have given up crying and screaming. He won't come. He's left me to die. It's my punishment. I have no idea what time it is, or any idea of the date. Has been hours or days? Everything is a swirling, mindless blur. I'm only certain of one thing; and that is death. Death has always inevitably been the ending._

_ "Raoul…" I whisper sadly, feeling my heart twist and turn. He is nearly all I can think of right now; that beautiful, smooth face, those kind green eyes that did not hide anything. Those arms, so secure and loving that I could live forever in their embrace…_

_ "I will do anything, dear God, sweet Jesus, if you'll let him live." I pray again. "Don't let him come here."_

_ Footsteps are approaching my room, Erik is coming back. My blood rushes with adrenaline, yet I hurriedly continue to pray._

_ "Don't let him come, keep him away. Keep him safe."_

_ The lock clicks._

_ "God save him; save my dear Raoul. Amen." I finish in a burst of passionate pleading. The door opens and his dark, foreboding figure sweeps into the room. His gloved hands are clasped together, wringing each other anxiously._

_ "Please untie me." I ask hoarsely, looking at his hidden face, trying to look extremely pitiful._

_ "Do you think I am stupid, Christine?" he lashes out unexpectedly._

_ "Of course not." I look down at my white lap._

_ "Then do not ask again." he snaps impatiently. "I simply came to bring you into the drawing room. I can easily carry you and your chair." _

_ I say nothing. He walks behind me and lifts up the chair with a labored grunt. Then awkwardly he carries me and the chair into the drawing room. The ropes are so tight I do not even slide around. He sits me down in front of the eastern wall, which is covered by a huge red curtain._

_ "What time is it?" I ask immediately._

_ "You still have a few hours." he tells me, going over to the mantle and placing a black bag on top. I stare at the bag and he notices this, even with his back turned._

_ "Don't even try to guess what's inside," he sneers sinisterly. "You'll find out soon enough."_

_ "Erik, please untie me." I request again._

_ "I will not do so." He replies firmly._

_ As I wrack my brain for something to do, a bell rings in the distance, quite suddenly. I have no idea where this mysterious ringing comes from. However, Erik seems to, because he stiffens up like a dog hearing a whistle, and then gives a nasty snicker._

_ "Hear that, Christine?" he turns around, feigning amusement, "it's the bell!"_

_ "What bell?"_

_ "Why, my front doorbell, naturally!" a very unsettling smile creeps on to his malformed lips, "I best go see who it is. You stay put; not as though you have a choice." he laughs at me cruelly and disappears behind one of the many black curtains in the room._

_ The second he's gone, I start moving around again, shaking the chair brusquely. My wrists feel like they are bleeding from rope burns._

_ "God damn it!" I curse; a rarity in itself. "Horrible rogue!" I start to feel as though I might cry again, when I hear something curious. It sounds like my name…I abruptly stop shaking the chair and listen intently._

_ "Christine?" the quiet voice comes again. I gasp, because it is Raoul's voice, coming from somewhere unseen._

_ "Raoul? Am I dreaming?" I mutter aloud._

_ "No! It is me! Oh Christine…at last!" he calls back avidly._

_ "Oh, Raoul!" I cry, relieved that he is alive, and terrified that he may soon be dead, "Where are you?" _

_ "We do not know. It's a room of mirrors…oh it is so hot in here…" he groans tiredly._

_ "Who is 'we'?"_

_ "The Persian and I…you know of The Persian."_

_ "Mademoiselle Daaé, are you all right?" The Persian questions me concernedly._

_ "I'm all right. But he has tied me up…the ropes hurt," I look around me, feeling frustrated that I cannot see them. "You sound so close…"_

_ "Where are you, Mlle. Daaé?"_

_ "I'm in the drawing room."_

_ I hear them mumble to each other frantically, and then Raoul excitedly calls out:_

_ "Christine! The Persian thinks you may be right in front of us!" _

_ "Of course!" I exclaim, wishing I could hit myself in the head. "The curtain!"_

_ "Is he gone?" The Persian asks me._

_ "Yes he's left…a bell rang. I do not know when he'll return."_

_ "Listen Christine, when he does, try to get him to untie you. Then try and get him to leave again." Raoul instructs._

_ "How?" I ask hopelessly. _

_ "Use your tears, your feminine charms. He loves you Mlle. Daaé, remember that! You are our only hope!" The Persian tells me desperately._

_ I heard a door slam shut._

_ "Hush, he's coming back!" I hiss at them. _

_ They fall silent behind the curtain. Erik's footsteps sound strange….they sound…wet. When he appears from the curtain again, sure enough, he is soaked from head to foot. I also notice a distinctive limp in his left leg—something best left unspoken._

_ "Forgive me, dear." He says, sounding winded. He wrings out his cloak, sloshing water to the carpet uncaringly. "There was an intruder by the lake. Silly creature…I had to handle him."_

_ "Erik, will you p lease untie me?" I ask steadily._

_ He glares at me, very annoyed. "No."_

_ I look down at the carpet and remember The Persian's advice. I think about how tight the bonds are and about how frightening this whole thing is, and in no time; I conjure up a perfect storm of tears._

_ "Oh please, Erik!" I wail pitifully. "Your ropes hurt!"_

_ He sighs, followed by a melancholy moan._

_ "Oh, don't cry! I cannot handle your tears! Don't you see how your crying hurts me?" he utters sorrowfully._

_ "I would not cry if you would release me!" I snivel, my voice quivering appropriately. "These ropes cut into me! I swear I won't try to run, or try to kill myself!"_

_ "What good is a woman's word?"_

_ "Erik, please!" I bawl. "It hurts…it hurts so much…"_

_ He stiffens up, shaking, trying to make up his mind and then, unhappily sighs:_

_ "Very well."_

_ Trying not to look too pleased, I continue crying as he saws away the rope with his pocketknife._

_ "Thank you." I whisper tearfully._

_ "Anything for you, Christine." he whispers sadly, dropping the frayed ropes down around my feet._

_ I stand up, regaining feeling in all my extremities. I rub at all the red marks until they go away. Erik watches me the entire time. When I look at him, he quickly diverts his eyes._

_ "I should go and change my clothes." he says unsteadily. "Yes, I should do that. I will be back soon."_

_ Such luck! I think to myself. He is leaving the room, just as they wanted. I watch him limp into his bedroom and shut the black door swiftly. I rush to the curtained wall, pushing my ear against it as hard as I can. _

_ "He's gone." I say quietly to the wall._

_ "Where is he?" The Persian murmurs carefully._

_ "He's just in his room." I speak in such a low voice that my lips barely move._

_ There is a moment of silence, followed by a hesitant inquiry from The Persian._

_ "Is there a black bag somewhere?"_

_ "Yes!" I whisper excitedly. "It's just on the mantle!"_

_ "Get that bag. I believe it holds his skeleton key."_

_ "How do you know this?" Raoul asks skeptically._

_ "I have seen it before." he replies bleakly. _

_ "I'll get it." I say, and rush and quickly and silently as I can towards the mantle. I pick up the velvet bag and run it back over to the curtain. I slide my hand inside, and feel cold metal. "It is a key!" I tell them. "Tell me where the lock is."_

_ "It must be behind the curtain as well, Mlle Daaé, you must-"_

_ Erik's bedroom door slams shut. I freeze with my hand in the bag, not breathing. Four harsh footsteps come towards me and then stop. His voice thunders at me furiously._

_ "What have you done with my bag?"_


	8. Part Eight

A/N: So, I realize on these last two chapters I have changed tense…on ACCIDENT. I'm not in the mood to fix it, so deal with it thanks! It won't happen again.

Time seemed to halt in that living hell. There was complete silence behind the wall. Monsieur de Chagny and I feared to breathe. Christine Daaé was making no attempt to answer him. So he repeated his question, furiously.

"Christine…_dear_…_where is my bag_?"

"Your bag…?" she asked, attempting a laugh, "what are you talking about?"

"Oh you are a _terrible_ liar, Christine." I could hear his terrible sneer. We heard him pace about for a minute, most likely trying to frighten an answer out of her. "Very well then, if you don't know where my bag is, then what are you holding in your dear, little hands, hmm? Behind your dear, little back?"

"Nothing, Erik. Nothing." The girl's voice trembled horribly. He took a few more steps and then Christine Daaé whimpered in pain. I imagined him cornering her and prying the bag out of her hands with violent, strong fingers. Monsieur de Chagny clenched his fists at the sound of her pain; I grabbed his arm, begging him to stay quiet.

"You little minx!" Erik gasped, in feigned shock, "You _did _have my bag after all! Oh, you certainly fooled me, didn't you?"

"Stop mocking me!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, I would _never_ mock you Christine…"

"I only wanted to see what was in the bag! I couldn't help it, Erik. It's a woman's curiosity."

He scoffed, "I don't like curious women, Christine. You should remember that."

There were more footsteps, and then Christine quickly spoke again, trying to get the key still.

"Erik, please show me what the key goes to!" she asked desperately.

"What key?"

"The key in the bag, of course. If I do consent to marry you, Erik, I think it only fair that I know all the rooms of the house."

"Clever girl!" Monsieur de Chagny whispered with a smile.

"Hmmm..." Erik replied thoughtfully. "I suppose you do have a point."

"Then let me see?"

He sighed and took a few more steps. "All right, I shall let you see." Then there was a dragging noise; a chair being pulled across the stone floor. After he had situated the chair, he told her to climb on it.

"Climb on the chair? Why?"

"You see, I've situated it under that little window…can you see it? It's underneath the curtain, but you can see the bottom, yes?"

"Yes…I can."

"That is what this key goes too. That little window will you show the room."

"There is no real door, then?" she asked anxiously.

"Oh there is, but I only use that when there is someone in the torture chamber behind the curtains." He remarked sinisterly. _Oh, Allah no. He's tricking her! _"And there isn't anyone back there, _is there Christine_?"

"What? Of course not! Don't be silly!" she laughed nervously again.

"Then up on to the chair, my dear. Take my hand and I shall help you up."

Monsieur de Chagny looked at me frantically. We could see no little window at all. Were we going to die in here? Erik had infamously trapped the poor girl. If she gave us away now, he would instantly kill us all. There was a clicking noise as Christine unlocked this alleged window and a loud squeak as she pushed it open. We still saw nothing—absolutely nothing.

"Well go ahead and look through it." Erik demanded.

The Vicomte leapt up, looking around desperately for the pretty head of his beloved peering through a window. He did not see her. I was more bewildered than ever before at Erik's trickery. How was he managing this? Something inside me told me he knew we were here. I tried to ignore the feeling.

"Tell me, what do you see, Christine?"

"I see…why, I see a jungle!"

"Do you?"

"Yes! It's… extraordinary! A jungle in the cellars of the opera! I don't understand, Erik. How is this accomplished?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets, does he? Christine, what do you see in the jungle?"

"Trees…so many trees…I can feel a breeze rushing through them!"

And then suddenly, we felt a breeze too. A hot, jungle breeze. A breeze that reminded me of home, of Mazanderan…of my son, of my wife; I could hear them calling to me. Monsieur de Chagny stood dumbfounded, looking confused and awestruck. I was no stranger to Erik's magic, but this was something entirely new to me.

"What else?"

"There are animals…birds, monkeys, all kinds."

Surely enough, we heard the shrieks and squawks of birds and monkeys. The Vicomte looked upwards, as if searching for the animals. I hadn't the energy to tell him it was all an illusion. In fact, it was starting to seem so real…

"And there's a lion!"

A loud, fearsome roar echoed through the room, causing us both to jump in fear.

"A lion!" The Vicomte mouthed to me in terror.

"Anything else?"

"I think there's water…"

We heard it rushing. It sounded so cool and clear. Our hot, dry tongues wagged and we searched for the water.

"Yes, there's a river!"

It grew louder. The Vicomte fell on to all fours, joining me on the floor. We crawled about, and then we saw it. Ahead of us, a river! Crawling rapidly, we made our way to the water. As we got closer, the water grew louder and we could feel the coolness. We stuck out our tongues to lap it up, and were flung backwards as our mouths seemed to be set on fire.

Holding our mouths in pain, trying not to moan out loud, we rolled on the floor.

"The water was a mirage!" I whispered to him in a choking voice. "We licked the hot glass!"

"All right, Christine, now come down." We heard Erik command. There was another squeak as she shut the window, followed by the click of the lock.

"Well, there you have it my dear. I've shown you my jungle."

"Yes, but…what about the torture chamber? The one with the real door, may I see it?"

"A torture chamber is a rather macabre thing for a young woman to be interested in."

"Oh, Erik please!"

"Christine, I am getting very _tired of this_!" he warned her dangerously.

"Erik, please let me see it. I just want to see the room that's all."

There was a pause again, an extremely unnerving pause. I knew something horrible was going to happen, and soon. I knew this monster far too well to expect anything else.


	9. Part Nine

_I stared at Erik, pleadingly. I was so confused by what I had seen. I knew they were in the torture chamber, I had assumed that was the room behind the curtain, but I had been wrong. I had yet to see the room I wanted. He glowered at me from behind his mask, but I could sense a cruel smirk as well, and I wasn't sure why. He waltzed away from the little window to the other side of the curtains and took out another key. He unlocked one of his many hidden little places, built into the wall; it looked like a control panel of wires and switches._

_ "What are you doing?"_

_ "Well, if you want to see the torture chamber, I must make sure everything is safe."_

_ I didn't like the way he was speaking. I could hear the irony in his voice…the dreaded sarcasm. I started to wring my hands. Perhaps there is nothing to worry about, I tried to persuade myself. Maybe he still isn't suspicious, maybe there's still a chance. Maybe…_

_ "What's this?" he asked suddenly, in that cold, mocking voice._

_ "What's what?" I came over to him anxiously, "What is it, Erik?"_

_ "It looks as if there is someone in the torture chamber, Christine." He turned to me, and I could see his wicked jeer under the mask's silk, mouth-flap. _

_ "No! There can't be!" I implored despairingly, feeling my blood pump furiously._

_ "Oh, but there is! See look, the little red light is on, see?" He pointed to a tiny bulb at the top of the control panel. "I don't know how I didn't realize it earlier."_

_ "Erik, no one is back there!"_

_ "How can you be sure?"_

_ "I just am!"_

_ "Well, then let's have a look behind the curtain." _

_ I jumped in front of him, holding my arms out. _

_ "Please, no!"_

_ He looked at me, seeming almost…amused. _

_ "Christine, if no one is back there, why shouldn't I look? Unless you have something to tell me?"_

_ "I'm frightened! I don't want to see anymore!" I lied hurriedly. He gave a dark chuckle and pushed me to the side effortlessly._

_ "Sometimes we have to face our fears, Christine. We can't always shut them away."_

_ He fumbled behind the red curtain and produced the tasseled cord I had not been able to find. Oh God, this is the end. He knows they're here. He's going to kill us all, right now._

_ "Are you ready, Christine?"_

_ "Erik, please!" I begged._

_ "Would you like to pull the cord?"_

_ "No! Please don't!" _

_ "Going once…"_

_ "Erik!"_

_ "Going twice…"_

_ "Please!" _

_ With all his fury he yanked the cord and the curtain was swept away. The sight before us was something from a nightmare. Raoul and The Persian lay sprawled across the floor. They had cuts and abrasions everywhere, and their skin was red and blistered. They were dying…he was killing them!_

_ "NO!" I screamed and threw myself at the glass, sliding to my knees. I could feel its heat, but I didn't pull my hands away. I pounded on it vehemently, "RAOUL! Raoul, it's me! RAOUL!"_

_ "Christine!" he murmured, lifting his head up slightly._

_ "I'm right here, darling! Look! I'm here! Raoul! Raoul!" I slammed on the glass with all my might, but Raoul still didn't look at me. Erik stood behind me, looking at them in a bemused disgust._

_ "Didn't I tell you Daroga, not to come here?" he thundered._

_ The Persian slowly rose from the floor, into a staggering kneel. "Erik! Erik, you…you made me a promise! Remember the rosy hours Mazanderan?" _

_ "I don't keep promises to traitors!" Erik spat at him. I stood up and rounded on him, angry enough to spit fire._

_ "What have you done to them?" I shrieked, "Why can't Raoul see me? Why?"_

_ "Because, you stupid girl, it's a 'magical' mirror. To us it is a window, but to them only a mirror. We can see them, but they cannot see us. It's rather fortunate isn't it? If I decide to slit your throat before eleven o'clock, they won't have to watch. They can only hear your screams. But __**you**__," he hissed, "You get to __**watch him die…your precious little prince**__!" _

_ "If you touch her…" Raoul shouted as loudly as he could, "I will kill you!"_

_ "Oh, Christine, your young man is nearly as foolish as you are, thinking he can outsmart me!" Erik laughed._

_ Before I could think, I was seized by a terrible anger, and I threw myself at him._

_ "You bastard! You horrible, evil monster!" I screamed._

_ I ran at him with fists drawn, nails ready to scratch. Instead, I found myself knocked to floor by his solid, steel hand. I groaned, lying on the floor, holding my head in my hands. A new headache surfaced, adding to the old one._

_ "He's hit her!" Raoul roared. "You miserable wretch! I'm going to bash in your ugly skull! I'm going to rip you apart!"_

_ "Monsieur le Vicomte, __**stop!**__" The Persian begged. _

_ "You were foolish to come here, Monsieur de Chagny." Erik walked to stand over me, as elegant as ever. "You were foolish to love this wicked creature." He stared down at me hatefully. "As was I! For it is she, this woman, who has brought us to our deaths; yes, it is she who will end many lives."_

_ I was certain he had a knife, or a gun, and was going to kill me right then._

_ "Erik, please!" I moaned, trembling on the floor._

_ "STOP IT!" Raoul screamed at the top of his lungs. "Christine, don't listen to him! Nothing he says is true!"_

_ "Erik, don't hurt her! Erik, you swore to me! You cannot do this!" The Persian now shouted as well. _

_ "Oh, I'm not going to kill her." Erik shook his head, bending down to stare into my face. There was fire in his eyes— powerful, ravaging, and lustful. "Not just yet. You see, that would be too kind. And there's something she's promised to give me…that I am just __**longing**__ to have."_

_ "No!" I burst into sobs, starting to crawl away. He let me crawl and just crouched there, laughing psychotically._

_ "It is something that every husband…no that every man deserves! Remember, Daroga? Your blessed Mazanderan taught me that! Every man deserves it! By any means!"_

_ "Erik, NO! No, please don't do this! Kill me, if you wish, kill us both, but don't do this!" The Persian wailed. "This isn't you! You know it isn't!"_

_ I continue to crawl, unable to get off the floor. I'd seen rape victims before. They had no light in their eyes. They screamed through the nights. They feared being touched. They wanted to die. I looked around for something, a weapon, to end it. I wanted to kill myself in front of him, I would suffer the consequence. I would go to hell. It couldn't be worse than what was going to happen. _

_ I crawled until I reached the piano stool, I leaned on it. I couldn't even catch my breath before he yanked me away. The stool clattered against the stone loudly. I slumped to the floor as he seized me by the ankle. As he dragged me into his room, I screamed, digging my nails into the stone floor. I was about to endure a fate worse than death._


	10. Part Ten

"CHRISTINE!" I scream with all my might, feeling myself shake with sobs, but having no tears to shed. They are all dried up in here. I scrape my fingers down the blazing glass. It's too horrible; it's just too horrible...I heard him dragging her away. I heard her _screaming_, such terrible screaming!

"_Erik_!" The Persian shouts, with a fury I hadn't expected of such a calm person. He pounds on the glass madly. "You cannot do this!"

"We have to get out of here!" I cry to him pitifully, "do you know what he is going to do her in there?" I seize his arm wildly, "_Do you know what he's going to do?_"

"Monsieur…I am trying! We have tried! We have done everything possible…" he shakes his head, defeated.

I let out a heart-broken roar, throwing myself on to the ground wretchedly. I cover my eyes with my blazing hot hands. All I can see is Erik and Christine. I see him beating her, on top of her, ripping away every last bit of her pureness. I hear her scream and cry and beg—I see her body being bruised and scratched. I see blood, I see it everywhere. I hear him _laugh_.

"Oh, _God no!_" I wail in horror, "I couldn't save her! She's the only woman I have ever loved, the only one I ever will, and I could not save her!" I lie there dry-sobbing for some time.

"Monsieur le Vicomte…" The Persian touches my arm gently, "Monsieur, I am so sorry for all of this. But, I feel there is something I must tell you that could perhaps ease your mind, if only a bit."

I move my hands away from my face and look up at his. "Go ahead."

"Monsieur, I first met Erik when he came to my country, many years ago. He was only a few years older than you. He came to serve the King and the Dowager Queen, in your terms, monsieur. The Dowager Queen was a terrible woman. She knew that Erik would have never received the pleasures of the flesh from a woman because of his face. So she gave him a girl, a harem virgin, as a gift. It was this girl's requirement, on pain of death, to sleep with him. But when she saw his face, the girl was horrified and burst into tears. She would not willingly do her job. In my country, there was no law against a man forcing himself on a woman…"

"Is _this _supposed to help?" I snap at him violently, feeling sickened by his story.

"Monsieur, please, let me finish. You see, Erik hated Persia. He hated our laws and morals, but he hated none more than this idea of legalized rape. So he asked the girl, trying to ignore his humiliation and crushed heart, "You would rather die than lie with me?" And the girl told him, "Yes," and started to wail again. To not take the girl was a terrible dishonor to the Dowager Queen, it was punishable by death. But Erik refused to take her. He would not; he _could_ not force himself upon her. And monsieur, I do not think he will be able to do this to Christine Daaé. Especially to Christine; he loves her, in his terrible way. This harem girl, she meant nothing to him. And he spared her. No matter how much he desires it, no matter how horrible and dark and violent he is, no matter what he says…he won't do it."

After he finishes, I just lay there again. I can hardly imagine this monstrous man committing such an act of kindness. All I know of Erik is evil and horror. Yet somehow, in some way I feel myself believing The Persian's story. Perhaps it's his kind eyes, or his gentle, rhythmic voice, but I believe him.

"You really think this?" I ask him quietly.

"I do monsieur." He nods, reassuringly. "I can't say she won't leave that room without being hurt, there is nothing we can do about that. Except hope and pray it won't be anything too severe. Which I do not think it will be, monsieur, because Erik is getting along in years and his health is terrible. His strength is exhausted quite easily now. But I sincerely believe she will leave it with her virtue still intact. And in this grave hour, that is of some comfort."

"Yes." I sit up, even more exhausted than before. "I think I shall believe you. You are the only person I have been able to trust through all of this."

"I only wanted to help you, monsieur." He says modestly, "I too, have been a young man in love."

"Tell me about her." I ask. He looks at me curiously.

"This is a strange moment to ask such a thing."

"Please."

He shakes his head, breathing heavily, moving his dry tongue around in his mouth.

"Tell me what happened to her, at least."

"She died long ago, monsieur. I feel she took the best of me with her."

My companion looks away from me, staring fixatedly at the ground. For the first time, I notice a tragic longing behind those jade eyes. My insatiable curiosity would normally compel me to keep pressing the matter, but I am too hot and exhausted to try. I lie back down again, dreaming of the North Pole, the place I should be off to at this very moment.

"Can it be?" The Persian murmurs. I watch him crawl on his knees to the center of the room. He pats around with his hand for a moment and then gasps, exuberantly, "It is! Oh, by Allah, it is!"

"What is it?" I force myself to crawl over next to him.

"I've been staring at it all along! I thought the mirrors were playing tricks!"

"What are you talking about?"

"A spring, monsieur…a spring to a trapdoor!" he points to the spot on the floor. I have to squint to see it, but there it is—a spring!

"How did we not see it?" I ask excitedly.

"Erik made it to camouflage into the floor. Without looking up close, no one can see it. Of course, most men don't last long enough in here to ever look close enough."

The Persian follows the spring, and places his fingers in one of the stone cracks.

"Help me lift it, monsieur."

I cram my own fingers into the opposite stone crack and together we lift open the trapdoor. A great rush of cool, wonderful air sweeps over us from the darkness below.

"Oh…" I sigh joyously, sticking my face into the darkness, "Beautiful air!"

"I wonder what he is hiding down there…" The Persian chews his lip as he looks into the abyss.

"Perhaps there is water?"

He nods, looking suspicious, "Perhaps. I suppose there's only one way to find out." He swings his legs into the opening. "I will go down first, monsieur, and then I can catch you."

"I have to jump down there?" My voice grows embarrassingly high with the fear of falling.

"Oh, you'll be quite safe." He assures me quickly, and in a flash he disappears into the black. Sweating even more than before, I stare down after him.

"Are you all right?"

He doesn't answer me.

"Monsieur Daroga?"

"Yes…" comes his voice, in a tone weak with a very non-reassuring dread, "Jump down monsieur. I think you had better see this."

Closing my eyes, I slide down into the trapdoor, feeling myself fall for a few horrible seconds. The Persian catches me under the arms, taking heed that I am all right, and then tells me to follow him. We take a few steps and leave the dark little passageway and enter a vast room, lit by a bluish light. This room is full of shelves. And upon the shelves sit barrels—hundreds of them.

"Is it wine?"

"No, I thought so too, at first."

"Then what is it?"

Without speaking he bends down on the floor and scoops what I had assumed was only dirt into his hand. He then holds out his hand, and I am able to see what it really is.

"Gunpowder!"


End file.
